The Meaning of Flowers
by Zoni
Summary: An alternate ending to the 2nd musical. After being forced to watch as Sebastian kills Eric, Alan is interrogated by William T. Spears. In a series of memories, he recalls his life with Eric Slingby. Eric/Alan - Character death, Suggestive, Sappy, Sad


**(Author's Note: **I rarely put notes at the beginning of a story, but I thought I should let you guys know that The Meaning of Flowers has been completely redone, with more than 2,000 words of new content, as of January 5th. Let me know what you think of the new version, and thank you for reading!)

**The Meaning of Flowers  
><strong>_a Kuroshitsuji fan fiction  
>by Zoni<em>

The London night was impenetrably dark, obscuring the buildings and lampposts of the city from view. The light from the lamps barely illuminated the unusual collection of people that stood in the road. A demon and his thirteen-year-old master were only yards away from two shinigami, one collapsed on the ground. Alan Humphries could only watch as his partner and lover, Eric Slingby, fought against Sebastian Michaelis.

Only days before, it had been revealed that Eric was a serial killer of unbelievable reach. More than nine hundred women and children had fallen at his hands. Every single life, each a pure soul, had been taken in an attempt to cure Alan of his lethal disease, the Thorns of Death. Even so, Alan had made him promise to stop the foolishness, the sin. Eric had sworn that he would take no more lives. He had promised. With that promise in mind, Alan could not understand how it had come to this.

Standing in the middle of the street, Eric Slingby and Sebastian Michaelis faced one another as the fighting came to a lull. Both men were strong and capable; they were excellent fighters with supernatural power and health. The demon, Sebastian, spoke. "Now, Mr. Eric, let us turn your soul into the very last one that you need."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Eric replied, cocking an attitude as he tossed his head. "Unfortunately, that won't work."

"Why is that?"

"My soul's already too far gone," Eric said. With those words, he threw himself back into the fight.

Alan was trapped on the ground. He sat with his hand clutched to his chest in pain. The Thorns had once again taken his strength and bound both his heart and lungs. Every breath was painful, but watching the fight progress was even more agonizing.

Alan could hardly believe what he was seeing as he watched the scene that unfolded before him. He hated watching them fight. He hated watching Eric do this to himself, all for the sake of saving him. Alan cried out as Eric was sent to the ground, his saw sliding away from him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the brunet cried. "Eric! Didn't you promise me? Didn't you promise to stop doing this for my sake?"

His pleas were meaningless. Eric had not heard a single word of what he had said. The tall shinigami was furious. Eric was focused on only one thing. He had poured his entire being into saving the man he loved. Everything. Now, the goal that he had worked relentlessly to achieve was so close that he could almost touch it. Even so, it was so far away that it would never happen. He knew that and he hated it. His frustration poured out as he shouted, "One more! I just need one more! Just one more soul and Alan will be saved!"

From his position ground, Alan could see what Eric could not. Reaching down, Sebastian Michaelis picked up the saw that functioned as Eric's death scythe. The demon lifted the weapon, preparing to kill Eric before the shinigami could attack him again. Screaming, Alan forced himself to his feet. He threw himself forward using every scrap of strength that remained in his body and pushed the demon away from his partner. "Stop!"

Behind him, Alan's ears detected the sound of Eric murmuring his name so quietly that he could barely hear it. "Alan..."

"Didn't you hear what I told you? You can't-" Alan shouted as tears ran down his face.

Whatever Alan had thought that Eric might say, his hopes were dashed on the cobblestones as Eric looked away. The blond shinigami fixed his gaze on the demon that stood nearby, now attending his master. Alan could recognize the emotion in his eyes as he studied his partner's face. There was realization in his features. Realization and triumph. "There's still one soul here that I can use! Ciel Phantomhive... your soul!"

Eric reached down and pulled the saw back into his grip. Alan felt his body give a jolt as he realized what Eric was about to do. Scrambling to his feet, Alan rushed to prevent Eric from taking another life. He placed himself directly between the diminutive teenage noble and his own partner, blocking his path. Alan waited for the pain to come with the feel of the blade. The blow never came.

Alan turned and glanced over his shoulder. His breath came in heavy pants. Behind him, Sebastian Michaelis stood in the middle of the street as though he had always been there. The demon's hand was held high in the air, wrapped around Eric's throat. Eric's hands scrambled over the white gloves and thin wrists of the demon as he tried to wrench his opponent's hands away from him. Through gritted teeth, he growled. "Bastard!"

With an easy movement of his arm, Sebastian threw the shinigami. Eric slammed into a lamppost. His body made a sickening crunch as it collided with the iron. The death scythe fell to the ground and slid a few feet across the ground. The weapon came to a stop directly in front of Sebastian. Slowly, Eric pushed himself back up onto one knee, recovering himself despite the blood that was running down his forehead. He walked to stand only a few feet from Alan, wiping the blood off his face as he went. "You fucking monster, I'll take that brat's soul and-"

"Your actions have been very brave, Mr. Eric. I must applaud you on your efforts," Sebastian said, interrupting. Bending down gracefully, the demon picked up the saw that lay at his feet. "However, in the end, it would seem that your efforts were ultimately futile. You could not even save the person you care about most. Commendable, but foolish. I will put an end to that now."

"I would do anything to save him," Eric spat. "Not even you can d-"

In half a second, Sebastian covered the space that separated him from Eric. The movement would have been too fast for human eyes, yet Alan watched in horror as the demon viciously pulled the saw blade in his hand across Eric's body from shoulder to hip. The metal of the blade passed through him as though he were air, cutting nothing and yet everything at once.

Alan heard his own scream reverberate through the air. He turned, wrapping his arms around Eric just as the tall man stumbled forward. Eric turned his head ever so slightly, lips moving without making a sound. Then, he collapsed to the ground. Eric Slingby was dead.

Alan let himself be pulled down to the ground by the weight of the other man's body, hands fisted tightly in Eric's coat. He screamed. "Eric! ERIC!"

He could not believe what had just happened. His mind could not comprehend that Eric was dead. Dead. As the realization began to sink in, Alan turned. Barely able to see the other people through the curtain of tears that had welled up and now ran through his cheeks, he screamed, "You! You killed him!"

"Indeed," Sebastian replied, "I did."

Turning, the demon returned to his master's side, straightening out the boy's cloak and top hat. Alan started to push himself to his feet once more. "Demon, I'll kill you for what you-"

The second that Alan stood, a ragged breath tore from his chest. The sharp pain of the Thorns of Death ripped through his body, bringing him to his knees. Panting, Alan struggled to get to his feet. Guiding his master away, Sebastian turned to look at him. "You may try, if you wish, but your efforts would be wasted. Good evening."

The demon and his master walked away. Alan sat on the ground next to Eric's body. Slowly, tiny white orbs began to drift down from the heavens. They were the souls that Eric had collected. No longer held captive by the death scythe or its owner, they fell back to earth like so much dust. From his place on the street next to the body of his partner, Alan watched them fall, completely overwhelmed and at the same time entirely numb. The pain of the Thorns was nothing compared to the feeling that burned through him, tearing him apart from within. He reached out and took hold of Eric's hand, still warm through the leather gloves that the man wore. Clasping it between both of his own, Alan did not move from his place at Eric's side.

Time passed entirely unnoticed, measured only in Alan's unsteady breaths. He stared blankly at the lifeless features of Eric's face, noticing nothing of the world around him. Only the feel of fingers on his shoulder brought him back to his senses. Turning to the side, he saw the familiar face of Ronald Knox.

A look of concern on his face, Knox said, "We need to go, Alan."

"But Eric-" Alan protested, tightening his grip on Eric's hand.

"We'll take care of him," Ronald said, putting a hand under Alan's elbow and helping him to stand. "I promise. But right now, you need to get out of here."

Slowly, Alan allowed himself to be pulled away. Ronald Knox held onto him, clearly worried about the possibility of seeing his co-worker collapse again. Around him, other shinigami were already collecting the souls that were still falling from the sky onto the dark London night. Alan's fingers came away from Eric's hand as he reluctantly whispered, "Eric..."

)/-\(

The interior of the Shinigami Dispatch Association infirmary was sterile and white. There was no flavor, texture or color anywhere in the furnishings. Three lines of beds covered a smooth expanse of white tile, each one separated by a single, flimsy curtain. The infirmary was a location with which Alan was familiar. He had been there dozens of times over the years. Just then, however, he had no recollection of how he had arrived or why he needed to be there. There was nothing that the attendants would be able to do to help him. He was beyond any sort of assistance. The earlier attack from the Thorns of Death had faded. When the pain had gone, it had taken everything that he had felt with it. In their place, the emotions had left only a deep sense of desperation and bitterness.

At first, the nurses had swarmed him. They wanted to make certain that he was not injured. They checked his lungs, tested his heart and tried their best to relieve whatever illness seemed to taint his body. As hours passed, they dwindled. Then, they had stopped coming to his cot altogether.

Whether that was because he had taken to snipping at the attendants any time they had come near him or because they had finally deduced that there was nothing to be done was a mystery. Alan neither knew nor cared. The pain that he had felt earlier had cut so deep that it was almost as though the death scythe had cut through him as well. He did not want to be able to feel that emotion again. He did not want to be able to think about what had happened. Everything in that dark London street was still too clear, too real. Thinking about it burned, as though someone had plunged a knife into his heart. "Eric..."

Refusing to lay down, Alan sat on the edge of the cot and stared at the plain white tiles of marble under his feet.

Alan looked away only when his vision of the floor was blocked by a perfectly polished pair of black shoes. Looking up, he could see the face of William T. Spears, his former manager. Spears looked at him, gaging his condition. His face was neutral. "Alan Humphries. I need to ask you some questions about the events of the past week."

"Alright," Alan agreed.

From somewhere to the right, there was a loud objection from Ronald Knox. Alan could not even remember seeing him come into the infirmary. The young shinigami protested noisily, shouting, "But boss! He's in no shape to be answering questions, just look at h-"

The change was instantaneous. Alan snapped at Ronald without even looking up. "I'm fine!"

"Man, you are not fine. You don't have to do this, it can wait," Ronald said, shaking his head. "Boss, come on!"

William reached up with one long, gloved finger and adjusted his glasses. He looked down through the thick lenses at the young shinigami sitting on the cot in front of him. Alan met his gaze with sadness. Raising his eyebrows slightly, William ignored Ronald's protests. "We will proceed with the interrogation in my office immediately, then. Follow me."

As always, Alan obeyed the directive without question. Standing, he trailed the manager out of the infirmary. Ronald followed at his heels, leaving only once they had hit the bulk of the offices.

To Alan, the halls of the company seemed alien even though he had walked through them a thousand times. The walls were blurred and indistinct, the light from the many doorways darkened by his own poor eyesight. Until then, he had not been bothered by the fact that he no longer wore his glasses. Remembering why they were gone, he shivered as he followed William through the thick oak doors of his office.

Without being asked, Alan sat down in one of the wooden chairs that sat in front of the desk in the center of the room. He folded his hands in his lap, squeezing the fingers of one hand with the other.

On the other side of the desk, William T. Spears sat in his office chair. For a moment, the manager stared across the wood at Alan. Then, he spoke. "I am aware that the circumstances of the last week are exceptional, considering your position within our division. However, I am required to try to ascertain the answers to several questions while the situation is still fresh in your mind. Before I do so, however, I need to know that you are able to answer questions. Ronald Knox's deductions about your state were not entirely unfounded."

Alan listened to the words without really hearing them. His heart was not into it. The very last thing that he wanted was to sit in that office and answer questions about everything that had happened over the past week. He did not want to have to explain what had gone wrong with his investigation, or how he had become entangled in a situation with a demon. He did not want to have to tell William about Eric and what the man had been hiding. Still, Alan heard himself say, "Yes. I can answer your questions."

Reaching down, William opened a drawer and removed several forms along with a pen and an inkwell. Shuffling the papers in front of himself, he found the one that he was looking for. He scratched a few notes. Not looking up, the manager said, "You are Alan Humphries of the collections division of the London dispatch office."

"Yes."

William scratched more words onto the paper without pausing. Then, he asked, "How long have you known Eric Slingby?"

"Sixteen years," Alan said. "We were introduced in this very office by you, sir."

Memories were all that Alan had left of Eric. Of those, one of the clearest was that of the first day that he had ever met the man who would become the most important thing in his life. In his mind, it was so clear that he could almost smell the still-fresh paint that had been used in William's office the day before.

)/-\(

__The London office was imposing, very different from the country division where Alan Humphries had completed his classes. On-the-job training at the larger offices was typical for new shinigami recruits. Even so, his case was exceptional. More often than not, novices went through group training. Having three or four other shinigami around them as they completed their first year of work was considered a supportive and helpful environment in which to adjust to the duties that they would likely be performing for centuries. Alan had not been selected to train with a group of other shinigami. He had been a rare exception to the system.__

___In his classes, Alan had always been the quiet one. The only times that he had spoken up were when he had disagreed with something or had been angered. Keeping to himself, he had always been viewed as the strange loner. While he was unfailingly polite, he had never ventured out or become very friendly with the other students in his classes. Without really intending to do so, he had isolated himself. ___

____When exams came, he passed with flying colors. His grades far surpassed his fellow classmates in all areas except one. His practical skills were lacking. His grade on the physical exam had barely met passing requirements. He had very little practice outside of the classroom setting when it came to the actual act of reaping a soul. Unlike other students, who would spar with their friends in their spare time, he had spent his days off with his nose buried in his books. ____

_____That was how he found himself standing in the office of William T. Spears, the imposing manager who was over the collections for the London division. Alan had been assigned a private mentor to see him through his first year of training due to the fact that his grades had been nearly perfect in all areas but one. _____

_Spears, while intimidating, had been encouraging in the fact that he had made it clear that he had selected Alan for the potential that the young shinigami had shown. There was no shame in being placed with a private mentor. To the contrary, it was an opportunity that few shinigami were afforded. Even though he had only been at the office a week, Alan was already handling some of the more complicated paperwork for the department. The mentorship was being put into place only so that he could be well rounded in all areas. Alan was not nervous about the prospect of meeting his new mentor. In fact, he was curious to see what the man would be like. He had always pictured someone who, like William T. Spears, was both businesslike and lethal._

__When Eric Slingby walked into the room, Alan was completely taken aback. He had been told that his mentor was a supervisor, but the man who walked into the office as though he owned the place looked thoroughly unsuited to any position of leadership. Cockiness was worn on his sleeve like a decoration as Eric grinned at the people in front of him. He casually tossed his head, shaking the hair out of his eyes. From head to toe, he was the epitome of recklessness. Bleached hair, piercings everywhere and shirt halfway undone, Eric Slingby was offensive to the very word 'professional.' __

___Thrusting his hand boldly towards Alan, the newcomer said, "I'm Eric Slingby. You must be the new meat they told me about."___

____"Mr. Slingby," Alan said and nodded, accepting the handshake. "My name is Alan Humphries, I will-"____

_"None of this 'Mr. Slingby' shit. I'm Eric. Just Eric," Eric said loudly, cutting him off. "And speak up, I can barely hear you! You're like a little mouse or something, squeaking away like that."_

__"I am not a mouse!" Alan had snipped back, not thinking before reacting in annoyance. Instantly, he reached a hand up to cover his mouth, embarrassed that he had just talked back to his new supervisor. __

___Eric stared at him for a moment in surprise. Then, he let out a loud guffaw. "You know what, kid? I think you and I will get along just fine."___

____That interaction had set the tone for their entire relationship for years to come, both personally and professionally. ____

)/-\(

Alan pulled himself back to the present. William was talking again, speaking clearly, as he looked over a piece of paper that he had pulled out of a file folder. "Eric Slingby was the mentor to who you were assigned for your on-the-job training, if I remember correctly."

"Yes. He oversaw all of my practical training," Alan agreed. "It had been determined that I did not need mentoring in any departments other than my work in the field."

"Eric Slingby was a respected member of the London dispatch. His status and your potential were the reason that you were assigned to him," William said, reaching up and adjusting his glasses. "However, his recent activities are disconcerting. Do you remember his tutelage well enough to answer questions about his training methods and quality?"

Alan frowned. "Yes."

"Do you feel that Eric Slingby was a competent mentor and trainer?"

"Yes, I do," Alan replied. "There were... difficulties in my training process, but he worked with me to overcome them. His methods were very effective in doing so."

"His methods?"

"Training methods," Alan responded.

William seemed unimpressed by the answer. "Do you feel as though he might have encouraged inappropriate behaviors of any nature in his co-workers or subordinates?"

"Absolutely not," Alan said, his voice louder than he had intended it to be. "William, why are you questioning his character?"

"Mr. Humphries, we are here because of Eric Slingby. His recent involvement in the very case that you were assigned to oversee is problematic to say the least." William stared across the desk at Alan, leveling his gaze in an intimidating manner. "There is the possibility that the egregious lack of propriety on his part has not been the first troubling incident that he has been involved with."

Alan rose to his feet. "Eric would never-"

"Mr. Humphries, sit down."

"But, Eric-"

"Sit _down_," William barked. The tone of his voice made it clear that there would be no room for discussion. "I understand that recent events may have clouded your judgment, but Mr. Slingby's actions were shameful to the Shinigami Dispatch Association, the collections department and to you. You should already be aware of this."

Reluctantly, Alan sat back into the wooden chair and returned William's gaze. He did not like the fact that William was blatantly insulting Eric. While the supervisor had been far from perfect, he had been well liked and a faithful friend. His character was part of what Alan had admired most.

Regardless of his own feelings, arguing with William would not help. Alan fell silent and pushed back the anger he could feel stirring in his heart. He focused on the sound of William's pen on the paper he was filling out. Outside of the large window behind the manager's desk, lightning flashed in the dark sky of early morning. A storm was brewing. The weather outside seemed to echo the thoughts that ran through Alan's mind, confused and turbulent.

Crossing his legs, Alan lifted his hands and tensed them once more in his lap. William looked up from his papers, tapping the end of his pen with his index finger. "How long did your mentorship with Mr. Slingby last?"

That question was unexpected, especially after everything that William had just said. Alan would have thought that the manager of the collections department would have had the information on file. More than likely, he did. Perhaps he was required to ask.

"Eric was my mentor for two and a half years, during which time he also functioned as my immediate supervisor," Alan responded, looking back at the manager with a hint of defiance. He could still remember his training as clear as day, even though it seemed an eternity away.

)/-\(

_Frustration was palpable in the air as mentor and charge worked together in the small gym that was used for trainee sparring. Alan Humphries was not happy as he picked himself up off the floor for the tenth time that morning. The feeling seemed to be mutual for his mentor, as Eric Slingby let out an annoyed sigh._

_"Pick something, will you? If you don't _do_ something, nothing's ever going to happen!" Eric shouted across the gym. "Either you get too fired up and just charge in without thinking, or you hesitate so long that you'd be dead if you were in the field. This isn't just practice, you know. This could save your ass!"_

_"I am doing my best," Alan insisted, pulling himself up off the ground. "Whenever I do what you ask me to, you say it is wrong! Please, make up your mind."_

_The day had been horrible. A lack of progress had become the norm for both supervisor and subordinate. For more than a month, Eric and Alan had worked together on a daily basis. They did not get along, they did not work well together and they could not hold a proper conversation._

_Alan did not like the fact that Eric was casual and occasionally reckless. His carefree attitude vanished when they were in the field on a collection, but when it came to training he was irritatingly unhelpful. His directions frequently contradicted one another. His teaching style was frustrating to Alan, who wanted nothing more than to get things right. He could not understand how the man had ever been promoted to a supervisory position._

_That particular day had started worse than usual. Their first assignment was a field collection that had gone wrong. They had worked with another team, owing to the high-risk nature of the collection. Even though there had been four shinigami, they had all walked away with injuries. For the most part, it had been scrapes and bruises, but the incident had left a bad taste in all of their mouths. _

_Sparring took up the last half of the shift, as it usually did. Another shinigami was the closest in strength that they could get to a cinematic record. It was also the best way to practice without anyone being seriously injured. In theory, one-on-one exercises were a good idea. _

_The problem came in the fact that Eric Slingby was far from an even match with his charge. Standing head and shoulders over Alan, he was much larger. He was also infinitely stronger. Alan had never been one of the more athletic shinigami. The difference between them was even more obvious when he had to try to subdue his mentor._

_The objective of the exercise was simple. He only had to knock the dummy scythe out of Eric's hand. No matter how hard that he tried, all of Alan's attacks were so easily rebuffed by the taller man that he could not get close enough to land a hit. His own dummy scythe would seemingly bounce off Eric's arm, or Eric would strike back in such a way that Alan wound up sprawled on the ground. Whether or not Eric held a scythe mattered little. He managed to avoid every attack with ease. The lack of success was frustrating to Alan, even more so for the fact that he also knew that Eric was nowhere near as fast as a cinematic record could be if it decided to fight the shinigami sent to collect it. _

_Eric was clearly every bit as irritated as Alan was. Sighing heavily, he said, "Try again. You can do this. Come on."_

_"Okay," Alan said. He dusted himself off, tightening his hand around his scythe. Taking a deep breath, he flew across the gym and launched himself at his mentor. Eric took a small step to the side and lifted his arm, easily pushing him out of the way. Once again, Alan found himself sprawled on the wooden floor. He stood up and turned to make another attempt._

_"Stop."_

__"What is it this time?" Alan asked, his irritation building. "I am doing exactly as you told me."__

___"Just... wait a minute," Eric said. Sliding his dummy scythe through the chain at his side, he walked over to where Alan stood. "Stand up, like you're going to attack me."___

____Alan did so, bending his knees slightly while trying to keep his back straight and holding his hands in the appropriate position. Eric walked around him appraisingly. Reaching down, he pushed one of Alan's knees to the side and widened the distance between his legs. Alan startled. "What do y-"____

_____"Just be quiet," Eric growled. "Give me a minute."_____

______Walking around to stand behind Alan, Eric reached forward and pulled his chest back. Then, placing both hands on the shorter man's shoulders, he turned his upper body. Finally, Eric reached down and pulled the dummy scythe out of Alan's hand. One hand on Alan's wrist, he turned the his arm until the palm was facing his chest. The dummy scythe was quickly put back into his grip. Grunting, Eric walked back around to face him. "Try to keep your body like this. Don't tilt forward. Try to keep your chest and hips facing the same direction. Don't let your feet slide too close together. It'll help you keep your balance, so you're harder to knock off your feet. Let's try again."______

_Turning, Eric walked halfway to the other side of the gym and pulled his own practice scythe out once more. He nodded. Again, Alan prepared to attack. Moving as quickly as he could, he charged forward and swung the scythe. Alan nearly gasped when his weapon struck Eric's chest. The taller man's scythe clattered to the floor. As soon as he heard the sound, Alan froze. Looking up, he stared as Eric started laughing. "I told you that you could do it!"_

_"What happened?" Alan asked, surprised._

__Eric's laughter slowed, leaving a wide grin on his face. "I fixed your balance. That made your attack stronger. A few more attacks like that and you'll be the one teaching."__

___"Thank you. That... really helped." Alan blushed lightly at the unexpected compliment. He raised his eyebrows as he realized something. "Eric, could it be that you weren't _trying_ to irritate me with everything you were having me do while we were sparring this week?"___

____"You think I actually like having you pissed at me?" Eric asked, genuinely surprised. "Fuck, you're almost agreeable when you're not correcting me, your _supervisor_, you know. You can do better than you have been. I just want to see you do your best." ____

)/-\(

________Williams's voice pulled Alan from his reverie. "Mentorships lasting longer than a year are very rare. The official limit for an extension is eighteen months. I was unaware that yours had been prolonged past that time."

"It was unusual," Alan agreed quietly. He had calmed himself after William's comments about Eric. Even so, the pain of the comments lingered. Staring at his hands, Alan sighed. "I have never heard of anyone remaining in a mentorship for the length of time that I had."

William reached up and pushed his glasses back into position. "Why was yours extended past the standard time?"

The extension was a sensitive subject. Alan disliked talking about the reasons behind the allowance. The details were a subject that weighed heavily on his mind. After the events of the past week, he felt even less inclined to discuss them. He could feel tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. "I became ill."

"With the Thorns of Death?"

"Yes," Alan replied. "At the end of the year that should have finished my mentorship, I was diagnosed with the Thorns of Death."

"I recall filling out the paperwork after the diagnosis was made, but I was unaware that it was tied to your extension. Was the illness the result of actions on Mr. Slingby's part?"

"No!" Alan snapped hastily. He had not thought the response through. Across the table, William's eyebrow twitched visibly. Alan glanced up at him, forcing himself to stifle his temper. To William, the Thorns of Death were nothing but another opportunity to find fault with Eric. Eric had not caused the Thorns, but he had helped to cover up the real cause of the disease. He had kept Alan's secret. "Eric... was not responsible."

The sharp gaze of the manager never left Alan's face. "The Thorns of Death have very specific causes."

"Yes."

"Do you know which of these causes led to your case?"

Alan paused. His irritation at William trying to find fault with Eric faded in light of that unexpected question. "I do, yes."

"Please explain," William said, setting his pen down on the paper in front of him.

"Sir, I don't understand what this has to do with the matter at hand." Alan frowned, sitting back a little further in his chair.

"I was unaware that your permission was required for the questions that I am asking you," William replied flatly. "Answer the question."

"I..." Alan hesitated. After a moment, he conceded. There was no point in hiding his secret any longer. He bent his head, hiding the quiet tears that were beginning to well up. "Yes, sir.

"I was the reason. I made the conscious decision to allow cinematic records to enter my body, leading to the Thorns of Death."

Alan's life had been filled with loneliness. The isolation that had made up much of his existence had driven him to find companionship wherever he could after his initiation into the dispatch. He had not enjoyed the raucous parties and crowded taverns that the other dispatchers had frequented. After he was attacked by a cinematic record on a routine collection, he realized that his loneliness could serve a better purpose. By letting the records, the very souls of the dead, into his body, Alan could take on some of the pain and sorrow that they felt. He could lessen their burden.

Eric had not found out until after the diagnosis had been made. He had been horrified, for multiple reasons. After all, aside from being terminally ill, Alan had managed to abuse himself in such a manner while he was under Eric's supervision. Rather than shunning the younger shinigami, Eric had tried to help him. He had helped conceal Alan's actions from management, who might have reacted harshly. What few difficulties had remained in their mentor-student relationship had vanished as they had both come to grips with the illness that would drag the both of them down.

"This occurred during your mentorship with Mr. Slingby?" William asked, sounding unsurprised.

"It did."

"Your mentor did nothing to stop this?" William picked his pen up once more. "The Thorns of Death require multiple exposures before the disease can be contracted."

"Eric was unaware of my actions until after I had fallen ill," Alan said tensely. The answer was thin, but it was the truth.

Arching an eyebrow, William said, "Mr. Humphries, I have a difficult time believing that you were repeatedly breached by cinematic records while under the observation of a competent supervisor. Either Mr. Slingby was competent, and you are lying, or you are the cause of your illness and his supervisory techniques were flawed. Which is it?"

The irritation that Alan had felt earlier began to surface once more. "Eric was an excellent supervisor. He was not responsible for my illness, no matter how it may seem."

"I see." William turned his head down to face the forms in front of him, scratching out another note in black ink. Without looking up, he asked, "Why did you decide to remain in collections? With your condition, we could have transferred you to a more suitable position."

Alan's voice was confident as he responded. "I wouldn't transfer out of collections for the world. I wanted to keep working in the field. It was... a personal goal. I very much wanted to continue with my duties until I was no longer able. Though, you are not the first person to say that I should consider other options."

Alan had heard those same words many times before. The difference was that the first person to speak them had been Eric. The two of them had endless discussions on the subject, arguing it to exhaustion. Some of those conversations had been more memorable than others.

____________)/-\(

_At the end of a long day, Eric and Alan were the last two people left in the office. Slumped against one of the walls behind a desk, Alan sat on the floor and panted. His hand was clutched against his chest, twisting the fabric of his shirt as he willed the pain to stop. His entire body felt like it was falling apart, held together only by the seams on his clothing. Everything hurt. Every breath that he drew burned. _

__Alan had not been able to get to the chair sitting in front of his desk. It had taken Eric to get him as far as the wall in the first place. Alan was not about to suffer the humiliation of being lifted into his own desk chair, especially not when he was not entirely certain that he would be able to remain sitting in it.__

___Eric leaned up against the wall next to Alan, staring down at the smaller man. His face was darkened by a frown as he studied the grimace on his charge's face. There was definite disapproval and a hint of worry behind the blue-tinted glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to do this, you know. I can talk to Spears. They can put you somewhere that won't stress you like this. You should be taking it easy."___

____"No!" Alan protested harshly, leaning forward with the force of the word. He choked and curled slightly in on himself as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. Leaning back against the wall for a moment, he looked up at Eric. "I want to keep working as long as I can. I'm fine. Really, I am."____

_____Very slowly, Alan pushed himself up so that he was standing. Automatically, Eric reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Alan ignored the rumbling sound of disapproval that left Eric's chest. Offering a pained smile, Alan said, "I just need a couple of minutes to rest and then we can head back out to finish the last case for the day."_____

______"Like hell." Eric guided him over to the office chair, still standing close even after Alan had taken a seat. Apparently, Alan had not been the only one who wondered about his ability to stay sitting vertically in the rolling chair. "You've got no business being back in the field today. We're taking you home as soon as you can walk."______

_______Hearing the worry that clearly colored Eric's voice, Alan looked up at him in unabashed surprise. "Eric..." _______

)/-\(

"The Thorns of Death have made it very difficult for me," Alan told William, not letting himself follow the memory any further. "It was only thanks to Eric's mentoring, and support from the other members of our department that I am... _was_ able to continue working, sir. As I am certain you know, I have handled collections on my own many times."

William looked up sharply from his papers. He had noticed something in the tone of Alan's words. "Mr. Humphries, what was the nature of your relationship with Eric Slingby after your mentorship came to an end?"

Alan dreaded questions of that nature. For years, he and Eric had avoided being asked that very thing by management. Not as optimistic as Eric, Alan had known that the inquiry would come one day. He took a deep breath and prepared to answer. "We were..."

Alan grew quiet as he searched for the right word to use. He had never actually thought about it, not in the entire time that he and Eric had carried on their quiet affair. No more than four hours had passed since he had last spoken to Eric. No more than a day had gone by since he had last felt his kiss and the warmth of Eric's strong hands on his arms, holding him steady as though they might both fall apart if either let go. Lovers seemed a pale word for the connection that they had.

The fact that Eric was gone burned through Alan. The tears that had been threatening to fall ran silently down his cheeks. He felt as though a piece of his soul was missing, a dark void left in its once bright place. That part of him had died along with the man who had held every broken piece of his heart. There were no words for someone like that.

Very quietly, Alan murmured, "I love him."

It did not matter that he had spoken in the present tense, as though Eric was still there. It did not matter that his now-former manager had just heard something that violated a dozen company rules. They had known that their relationship was forbidden. Supervisors were not to interact with their charges outside of the work environment, and certainly not romantically.

Eric and Alan had talked about the possible consequences when things had first turned towards romance, when they had considered violating every rule that had kept them separated by their status in the company. Never before had Alan told anyone other than Eric that he loved him.

Years ago, though he could not pinpoint exactly when, Alan had started to realize that he cared for his mentor,. When he had learned that it had not just been he who felt that way, and that Eric had also cared, things had changed. Even so, they had decided not to let it affect their work. They would not risk punishment by the higher ups. They would not let it stop either of them from achieving their goals within the company.

None of their co-workers had known. Quiet, obedient Alan had been the very last person that any of them would have ever suspected of having an office affair. Even in the London dispatch, he had kept mostly to himself. The fact that he did not enjoy parties or socializing the way that several of the other employees did kept him thoroughly separate from the crowd. He was quite certain that the truth would have shocked even the most open-minded of their fellow workers if they had ever come to learn that he had been intimately involved with his own direct supervisor. That shock would have doubled when they learned that the person he was involved with had been Eric Slingby.

Eric was everything that Alan was not. While Ronald Knox considered himself quite the ladies' man, rumors of Eric taking home multiple secretaries occasionally ran rampant through the break room. Drinking and smoking were the least of Eric's well-known vices and the man had never turned down an invitation to a party. None of them would have ever suspected what he was really like. Even with the tears running down his face, Alan could feel his heart warm at the thought of how their affair had begun.

)/-\(

__Everyone in the office had been overworked. Paperwork had tripled. For the teams of shinigami, it was a minor concern. For Alan, it meant three times the paperwork with half the manpower. He had recently been switched to working collections on his own, happily confident in his own abilities. He took pleasure in working on his own, but the paperwork was ridiculous. The deadlines were equally trying, having been moved up in order to try to clear the backlog of work that lazy employees had created over the past two months. Alan did not really mind, though. After all, he had help. Eric had volunteered to assist him with finishing the extra reports.__

_In and of itself, Eric's offer of help was not unusual. Over the course of more than six months, the two of them had started to spend more time together outside of work. Their mentorship had ended almost a year before, but they somehow always seemed to find themselves in the same place. At first, it had seemed like a series of happy coincidences. One of them would need to go to the store and the other would suddenly remember needing to buy milk. The desire for a hot cup of coffee would be matched by the need to purchase a new tin of tealeaves._

__Eventually, they had both wound up giving up on the pretense of needing to run errands. Openly accepting friendship, they had started spending time together outside of work once or twice a week. Invariably, they wound up at Eric's spacious flat or Alan's tiny home, not bothering to stay at the office unless it could not be avoided. Evenings were always comfortable and relaxed as they finished their paperwork, played cards and talked about office gossip.__

___The more time that Alan spent with Eric, the more time he wanted to spend with him. He had come to care very deeply for the man who had once been his mentor and who still functioned as his supervisor. It was against regulations. Alan was familiar with all of the company rules; he followed all of them to the letter. Yet, he could not seem to shake the childish crush that he harbored for Eric. ___

____For a few weeks, Alan had worried about his emotional betrayal of the company standard. In the end, he had decided that it was harmless enough. Those silly feelings would never go anywhere. Surely, there was no harm in enjoying Eric's company, even if the other man did not enjoy his companionship in quite the same way. When Eric was at his side, the shadows of loneliness and pain would fade away, chased into nothingness by the sunshine of Eric's carefree demeanor.____

_____That night was no different. After Alan's shift had ended early in the evening, he had returned home and fixed a small meal. When Eric had arrived after his shift had ended, they had eaten and chatted over the food. Then, they had found themselves seated in front of the coffee table that stood between the couch and the fireplace. Together, they had tackled the massive amount of paperwork that Alan had hauled home with him. By the time that they had finished, the fire in the hearth had burned low as they chatted about incidents that had happened at work. _____

______Alan smiled, speaking warmly in a way that he never did in the office. "And then Ronald tried to carry the entire stack of files through that little door that leads down to the copy room, not thinking about how low the door frame is-"______

_______"He didn't take half the stack?" Eric asked, grinning._______

________Alan's smile widened. "Not at all. He took the whole thing. He didn't want to make two trips, you see. So, he walked through the doorway and half of the stack of folders went all over the floor. Papers everywhere!" ________

_________Eric laughed. "Oh, man." _________

__________"So, he turned around and bent down and started to pick those up... and the rest of them fell out of his hands." Alan was laughing now, too, as he recalled the unfortunate incident he had witnessed. For once in a long while, he was truly happy. "No matter what he did, it just kept getting worse."__________

___________"What happened?"___________

____________"William came through and ordered him to get it cleaned up, but Ronald was having such a hard time that I wound up having to help. You should have seen the look on William's face - I think he thought he was going to have to do it himself. I wonder if Ronald would have ever made it through without my help." Alan laughed brightly, pushing his stack of finished papers away and stretching. He leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch.____________

_____________Laughing, Eric shoved his own stack of papers to the other side of the table and tossed his pen on top of them. Leaning back against the couch, he stretched out and laid his arms out along the backboard of the sofa. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped one of them around Alan's shoulders and tugged him closer. They both froze as they realized what Eric had done. Alan stopped laughing, his eyes wide with surprise. From the expression on Eric's face, it was easy to tell that he had not planned to do that. _____________

______________Neither man seemed certain of what to do. For a long moment, they both stared at one another, each waiting for the other to make a move. Even so, the silence was not awkward. Instead, the warmth of the amused atmosphere that swirled around both of them seemed to multiply tenfold. Alan swallowed. "Eri-"______________

_The moment that Alan started to speak, the look of uncertainty vanished from Eric's face. Just as the first letters of Eric's name left Alan's lips, Eric shrugged. Then, as casually as though he had done it a thousand times, he leaned in and kissed him. It was as simple as that. In that single moment, Alan knew that everything that he and all of their co-workers had assumed about Eric was wrong. Completely wrong._

__Eric's lips against his felt like a little piece of heaven. The kiss was not awkward, as first kisses often were. Instead, it was careful, warm, sweet and very genuine as their lips moved together. Everything simply worked, as though that was the way that it was always meant to be. Feeling the heat of Eric's lips against his, Alan knew that he never wanted to kiss any other lips but those ever again.__

___Pulling away, Eric searched Alan's face to see if the touch had been welcomed. Even with the fact that Alan had pushed back into the kiss, had wanted it just as much as he had, Eric wanted to be certain.___

_______________Voice barely audible, Alan whispered, "Eric, you..."_______________

________________"I want you." Eric's confession was raw and unrehearsed, a rough exhalation of words that he had been holding back. "I've wanted you for months. Alan, I just-"________________

_________________Leaning up, Alan pressed his lips to Eric's and cut off his stream of words; effectively ending any doubts that the desire between them was anything less than mutual. His boldness even caught him off guard as he leaned up towards Eric, burying one hand in the thick strands of blond hair and pressing himself into the warmth that the man offered. He let himself indulge. He let himself be swept away. Not once had he ever considered himself forward, possessive or inclined to any actions like these. With Eric, it did not feel that way. It felt like coming home. As Eric's arms wrapped around him, Alan knew that he had finally found someone for whom he could light the way. _________________

__________________________________)/-\(

"You were romantically involved with Eric Slingby?" William's voice was sharp with disapproval. The question cut through the sweetness of the memory and pulled Alan back into the present.

The tears that ran down Alan's face stung the skin of his cheeks. The realization that Eric was gone had finally begun to sink in. The charismatic supervisor had been at his side for so long that he was unaccustomed to his absence. Pain ran through him, far different from the attacks brought on by the Thorns of Death. The reaction had been delayed, pushed back by the shock of the evening's events. He could do nothing to change the fact that Eric was dead. Even though he knew that, it did nothing to lessen the feeling of his heart breaking.

From the other side of the desk, William T. Spears' expression was so sharp that it could have cut glass. If the manager had wanted more to write about Eric in his detailed report, this would provide him with ample material. Unable to meet his gaze any longer, Alan turned away. "Yes, we were involved."

"Mr. Slingby was a willing participant in this, even though he was your superior and former mentor?"

"Yes, he was," Alan said.

"For how long?"

"Twelve years," Alan replied. He did not have to think about the date. Eric and he had celebrated their anniversary only a few weeks earlier. Shinigami did not typically mark the passage of years with birthdays or anniversaries, but the Thorns of Death had made their traditions different from the norm.

Silence met Alan's response as William considered the new information. Alan said nothing, waiting for the condemnation that he knew was coming. After a moment, William asked, "Are you aware that romantic affairs with your superiors are strictly forbidden within the company?"

"I am aware," Alan whispered.

"Mr. Humphries, I would have expected better judgment on both your parts. Did I not ask you whether or not Eric Slingby encouraged inappropriate behavior in colleagues?"

"You did, sir, yes."

"You told me that he did not," William said, glowering. "This is the very definition of inappropriate behavior. Would you care to explain this discrepancy?"

Alan turned to look back at William. As he did so, his expression was far more resigned than it had been earlier in the interrogation. "I have no explanation to give."

Though no emotion registered on his face, William was clearly angry at having discovered an affair between two of his employees. The fact that it had lasted more than a decade without his knowledge did nothing to lessen his ire. Flipping through several sheets of paper, he pulled a new form out and set it on top of the others. "Mr. Humphries, perhaps I should outline for you that the situation in which you find yourself is a very difficult one. You have just told me that you were romantically involved with Eric Slingby, who we know to be responsible for the single largest incident of soul theft within the past three hundred years in England. It is alleged that he was collecting them for his own purposes, and that those purposes are related to you. Due to your proximity to him, you must also be considered as suspicious."

"I understand."

"Do you know why Eric Slingby was collecting souls?"

"Yes," Alan said quietly. Bitterness filled his voice as he continued. "Of course I do. I should have known sooner."

The sound of William's pen scratching against paper paused. "Enlighten me."

"The Thorns of Death," Alan said flatly. His tone broke as he quoted himself, telling William the same thing that he had told Eric not that long before. "'A thousand souls can save one from the curse.' Have you heard the old tale?"

"I have heard it, yes," William said, his tone incredulous. "He disposed of nine hundred and ninety-nine people who were not scheduled to die because of a fairytale?"

"Yes." Alan's hands tightened around each other as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill. "He believed the legend. It was a slim chance, but it was still a chance. He wanted to save me."

After Alan had learned the truth, there had never been any question as to why Eric had gone to some extreme lengths and committed such a horrific sin. The legend was nothing more than an old superstition, something with which many shinigami were familiar. That fairytale had been the only hope that either of them had held onto, and one that Alan would never have dared to consider. Never in his life would Alan have suspected that Eric might go so far as to try to turn the myth into reality. Eric had been selfishly unselfish; if he had succeeded and Alan had been cured, he would have been discovered. Then, he most likely would have been destroyed. He had to have known that from the very moment he had begun. It no longer mattered. After all, Eric was dead. He had died trying to save someone like Alan from the Thorns of Death.

Reaching up, Alan pressed a hand to his chest and willed it to stop hurting. This was not pain from the Thorns of Death. This was something infinitely worse. A life without Eric was not a life at all, it was barely an existence. Even so, he knew why Eric had died. The Thorns of Death had been a matter of contention between them for as long as he could remember. He had hated that fact.

)/-\(

_Alan sat on the edge of their bed. The wooden floor underneath his feet was cold. Morning light poured into the room through the thin curtains that hung over the windows. The night before, they had wound up at Eric's apartment for the fourth time that week. In a few days, they would move back to Alan's house. They switched lodgings whenever they tired of the eclectic mess that made up Eric's furnishings or the too-tidy organization of Alan's house. On any other day, Alan would have teased his partner about his lack of decorating sense. Just then, it was not the time for teasing or jokes. _

_Alan tried to tell himself that he was just tired. He had not been getting enough sleep. Surely, his exhaustion was from the unfamiliar bed, the things that they had done the night before or the extra hours at work. He wanted the pain in his body to be anything but what it actually was, another dark symptom of the Thorns of Death._

_Behind him, Eric was still half-buried underneath the thick blankets. One of his long arms was stretched out, reaching for Alan. He wanted Alan to stay, wanted him to rest. Eric wanted him to live. Beckoning with only his fingers, Eric pleaded with him. "Come on, lay back down. You can rest a little longer. Management will understand, you know. They know you're sick. It's not like they expect you t-"_

_"I'm fine!" Alan snapped. Taking a shuddering breath, he sagged slightly on the edge of the mattress. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter than it had been before. "I have to get ready to go to work."_

_"I really don't think you should be up and about, let alone working," Eric told him. "Especially not after that attack this last night. That was bad, Alan. Real bad. You know the office is going to be slammed with cases today. It's just going to happen again, and this time we might no-" _

_"The fact that the office is so busy is why I have to go in." Alan could hear the worry that colored every single word that Eric spoke. He hated it. He hated the fact that he was being pitied. Sliding off the edge of the bed, he got to his feet. His voice was bitter. He sounded incredibly childish and he knew it. "I'm sick. I'll always be sick. I can't stop living just because I'm sick. I'm going to have these Thorns of Death until the day I die, and then it will be over. Then, I won't have to go into wo-"_

__In an instant, Eric was out of bed. Strong arms wrapped around Alan's thin body as Eric pulled him up against his own frame. "Don't say that. Please, don't say that."__

___Surprise and warmth quickly replaced the frustration and annoyance that had run through his body only moments before as Alan allowed himself to be held. The way that Eric's arms wrapped around him felt as though the man never wanted to let him go. There was more emotion in that single touch than in any words they could have spoken. The embrace was almost desperate, like trying to hold air. Very slowly, Alan looked up at Eric's face. Not for the first time, Eric's eyes were red. He was crying. "Eric..."___

____"The more you push yourself, the less time you'll have." Eric's voice was rough. It was as though could barely bring himself to speak the words. "I don't want to lose you. Not yet." ____

_____Twisting his arm, Alan pulled his right hand free from his lover's strong grip. Reaching up, he brushed some of the golden strands of hair out of Eric's eyes. Eric turned his head, pressing his face into the palm of the other shinigami's hand. For a long moment, neither of them moved. _____

______The Thorns of Death had put them in a difficult situation, one that had no right or easy path through it. No amount of arguing would do anything to wipe away the knowledge that the time that they had left together was limited. As each minute passed, it brought them closer to the day that Alan would finally succumb to the disease. That knowledge was killing them both. While the disease ate away at Alan, he knew that seeing the effects of it was slowly killing Eric, too.______

_"We still have a little while," Alan said, offering him the smallest of smiles. Pressing his palm into the side of his lover's face, Alan leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him. "I'll rest today, but I need to go to work tomorrow if I am feeling up to it. Okay?"_

_"Okay."_

_____)/-\(_____

__________There had been countless days exactly like that one. Happy hours had sometimes been peppered with mild arguments or the avoidance of the fact that Alan would not let his disease control his life. Many times, he had wound up going into the office regardless. He wanted to say that their life together had been easy or charmed. That would have been a lie. All of the petty arguments, all of the disagreements seemed completely meaningless in hindsight. Even so, he still felt the painful sting of regret. Unable to stop himself, Alan whimpered as he began to cry anew. He pressed it to his mouth, muffling the sound. The dampness from his tears soaked through his cotton gloves.

Across the desk, William T. Spears continued to fill out his papers as he waited for his subordinate to compose himself. Outside of the building, rain started to fall. The sound of the droplets hitting against the panes of glass that made up the back wall of William's office became a steady backdrop. Alan focused on the noise. Soon, the sounds of his tears were drowned by the storm brewing outside.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed before William decided that Alan was calm enough to answer another question. "Were you aware of Mr. Slingby's involvement with the missing souls, or that he was killing humans who were not scheduled to die?"

Pulling his glove away from his mouth, Alan looked up. "William, do you really think that I would allow something like that to happen?"

"I take nothing for granted, Mr. Humphries," William replied. "You were the person closest to him, closer than I had assumed. You believe that your illness was the motivation for your actions. I am asking you whether or not you were aware of what he was doing."

"I didn't know. Like you, I only found out about a week ago, shortly after you assigned me the case," Alan replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. He disliked being accused of aiding in criminal activities, even though he was uncertain whether he would have acted even if he had known. He paused. "I didn't know. However, I probably should have suspected that something was wrong."

In truth, Alan had known that something was not right. He had simply not known what it had been. The trouble had started months before, nearly a year. He easily remembered how many nights that he had lay awake wondering.

)/-\(

_The change in Eric had not been a quick one. It had been subtle, happening over months rather than days. At first, it was just little things. Inconsistencies. They were details so small that no one else would have noticed, but Alan saw. _

_Eric was tired at work and no amount of coffee would help. He would come home late. Paperwork dragged out at the office but he never brought it home to work on. Even when he was home, Eric seemed distracted. Sometimes, Alan would find him staring into space as though he was deep in thought. Those moments had grown much more common as of late, as had his flimsy excuses. Excuses and late nights had slowly become the norm._

__It was another late night. Alan had spent the entirety of it awake, staring out the window at the cloudless sky outside, as he lay in bed unable to sleep. Eric was not there. His shift had ended at ten. The clock beside the bed showed that it was almost four in the morning. There was a sick, sinking feeling in Alan's stomach as he considered the possibilities. He shoved them away, unwilling to doubt the man he loved so dearly.__

_A creaking sound betrayed the opening of the bedroom door. Without moving, Alan listened to the quiet, hollow footsteps that echoed through the room. Fabric rustled as clothing was removed. The entire mattress shifted to the side as the covers were lifted and Eric slid into bed. Instantly, a warm arm wrapped around Alan's waist and he found himself being pulled back against the broad expanse of Eric's chest. Despite his unease, Alan leaned his head back and let himself relax in the familiar warmth of that comforting hold. Instantly, Eric's lips were on his neck, nibbling their way up to Alan's ear._

__In the darkness, Alan whispered, "Where were you?"__

___"Had to take care of some things at the office," Eric said, just as quietly. "Just paperwork. It's no big deal."___

____Turning, Alan rolled over so that he could look at Eric's face. His glasses were gone, placed on the nightstand at the other side of the bed. Carefully, Alan studied every familiar feature on his lover's face, looking for something that would tell him why Eric's answer sounded wrong to his ears. There, in the man's deep green eyes, he could see that something was not right. Eric was hiding something from him. The possibilities of exactly what it was that he might be hiding frightened Alan in a way that few things ever could.____

_____Alan knew that Eric had spent more than one night at a tavern, falling slowly back into old vices. That was a sign of worse problems, of something else. He had also considered the possibility that Eric might be having an affair, trying to distract himself from the reality of his dying partner. Alan was painfully aware of the possibilities, and yet he did not know what he could do. He did not want to doubt him. Once more, he asked, "Where were you?"_____

______"Don't worry about it, love." Eric's hands reached out underneath the blankets and pulled Alan's arm up to wrap around his waist. "Why aren't you sleeping?"______

_______"I was waiting for you."_______

________"Do you work tomorrow?"________

_________"No." Alan's response was soft as he leaned once more into the welcome feeling of Eric's body. He was upset. He was not happy with the fact that Eric was obviously avoiding his questions. Even so, he did not want to be away from him. Eric was the only thing that kept him whole. He wanted to ask him again. He wanted to push for answers and to know what it was that Eric would not tell him._________

__________"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, then," Eric murmured. "Let me apologize properly."__________

___________Alan wanted to know where the man had been, but all thoughts vanished the instant that he felt Eric's lips on his neck once more. Letting go of his worries, he lost himself in the man he wanted very desperately to trust.___________

)/-\(

Brushing the last of the tears off his cheek, Alan tried to bolster his strength as he looked back towards William. "If I had asked more questions, I might have known. However, I did not."

There was no immediate response from the manager, who continued to scratch notes onto the forms in front of him. When William looked up, his expression was no longer sharp. Instead, it was unreadable. That did not bode well. Alan wondered what question he would ask next. His curiosity was stopped the instant William spoke. "Alan Humphries. Did you in any way assist with the untimely collection of the souls that were not on the list of people scheduled to die?"

"No." He had expected that question to come, even though it seemed irrational after the one that had preceded it. "After I found out what he was doing, I tried to stop him."

"You tried to stop him?" William questioned. "How so?"

"I caught up to him. Talked to him. I pleaded with him to stop. He promised me that he would. Eric told me that we could leave, that he wouldn't take any more..." Alan's voice trailed off. He could not think about that conversation, about what they had said and what they had both agreed to not so long ago.

A long, black-gloved finger slid up William's nose and pushed his glasses into place. "Is that why you are no longer wearing your company approved glasses?"

Nodding, Alan told him, "Yes."

"Do you still wish to resign from the Shinigami Dispatch Association, considering the circumstances?"

"I don't know," Alan said. "Though, I cannot imagine that I will be permitted to come back to work after what I have told you."

"That will be decided depending on the outcome of the investigation. Perhaps it is something that you should consider."

"Yes, sir."

Silence fell between them as William wrote a few more things on his papers. Only the sounds of the rain outside and the sound of the pen on paper filled the room. Finally, he set the pen aside. "There will be more questions in a few days' time. Until then, you are free to return to your home. You are not to report to work until I contact you."

Alan nodded, standing shakily from his chair and steadying himself on the arm of it. "Thank you, sir."

Turning, he walked out of the office and the Shinigami Dispatch Association.

)/-\(

Home was a small brick house. Inside, the furnishings were cozy and warm. Bookshelves featured prominently in most rooms, afghans were thrown over the backs of chairs and sofas and quaint decorations spoke to the fact that someone lived there and treasured the house as their private sanctuary. As he walked through the front door of the house, Alan could feel none of the warmth that it had previously held.

The weight of the past week overcame him as he closed the door behind him. His mind was numb, beyond thinking more than it absolutely had to. He was hungry. He had not eaten during the last day. Taking heavy steps, Alan walked into the kitchen. Almost immediately, he wished that he had not. The kitchen had too much of Eric in it. He was everywhere that Alan looked.

Even though Eric had his own apartment, they had spent most of their time in Alan's small home. Eric's own abode, large and messy, was mostly for show. None of their co-workers had known that they were involved. It was unusual for shinigami to live together unless they were romantically involved. To their co-workers, they had been nothing more than fellow employees, each maintaining their own separate residences and perhaps chatting in the break room over lunch or in between assignments. In reality, they had been as close as two people could be. That intimacy showed in every inch of the kitchen that Alan could see.

On the counter, Eric's coffee cup still stood unwashed from where it had been left several days before. They had not come home after the incident at the Phantomhive manor. It was not as though they would have been able to return, not when the nature of Eric's deceptions had been revealed. Walking over to the counter, Alan ran his index finger over the rim of the cup. In the bottom of the ceramic, dried coffee still clung to the glaze. Eric would never need that cup again.

Alan looped his fingers through the handle of the mug and carried it to the sink, setting it inside. Hanging on the cabinet, he saw a piece of paper with a note scrawled on it in the messy script that Eric had only used when writing notes to Alan. The small memos had been left frequently, whenever Eric had to leave early for work or just because he had felt like it. He could never have gotten away with writing like that at work, but Alan had secretly loved the way that Eric's notes had taken time to decipher. This one was simple; it was just a short note wishing Alan a good day at home. The day that Eric had written the note, he had worked early and let Alan sleep in. The brief letter had hung in place for nearly two weeks. Alan had never taken it down.

Alan walked over and sank into one of the chairs that sat beside his wooden dining table. He glanced tiredly around the kitchen. Eric's presence was nearly tangible in the air. Even though he was gone, he was still everywhere. The cleaning kit that the man had used to take care of his saw sat on the corner, exactly where Alan had told him not to put it. Next to the kit, a mostly empty jar of raspberry preserves paid testament to Eric's favorite self-indulgent treat.

Looking at all of these things, Alan could not take in the fact that Eric was gone. He would never finish off the last of the jam. The cleaning kit would have even less of a chance of being moved. Eric would never wish him a good morning, or kiss him or hold him again. He was gone.

Just as much as his mind rebelled against the idea, another part of his mind was beginning to accept that fact with startling clarity and depth. The emptiness of the house was something that he could feel. That sensation was as sharp as knives. Alan looked at the breadbox and debated making a sandwich with its stale offerings. Deciding against it, he stood and walked through the dark halls of the small house to the bedroom.

If the kitchen had held many of Eric's things, it was nothing to the bedroom. His personality had taken over there more than anywhere else in the house. The bed stood as its own startling contrast. One side was neatly made, the covers tucked in and smoothed. The other side of the bed was untidy, the comforter thrown back and the case halfway off the pillow from where Eric normally slept. The closet door stood open, revealing a selection of suit shirts that would be far too large to have a hope of fitting Alan. To the side, a few of Alan's own shirts had been stored safely out of the way. A haphazard line of dirty clothes trailed from the edge of the bed to the closet door.

Alan paced across the floor and bent down, picking up the wrinkled pile of fabric that was Eric's discarded shirt from days before. He stumbled to the side of the bed where the covers lay undone. Not bothering to undress, he collapsed onto the sheets and pressed his face into the shirt that he held in his hands. The fabric still smelled like Eric, like his cologne and his hair the way it had been when he had just gotten out of the bath. Tired of fighting his own emotions, Alan let out a pained cry as he whimpered Eric's name. Everything that he had held back in the interrogation came pouring out as he sobbed into the thin fabric of Eric's cotton business shirt.

Loneliness. Everything in Alan's life had been consumed by loneliness. Friendships were few and flimsy, passing by like the wind. Family was something that he had never thought of or considered; he had none of his own. He had longed for someone to who he could feel connected. He wanted somewhere to belong. In Eric, he had found someone who had cared about him, loved him and shown him that he could become more than he had been. Eric's own life had been problematic and self-abusive, driven by many of the same motivations that had led Alan to avoid people as a whole. In the other shinigami, Alan had finally found someone for whom he could light the way. There had never been two people so unlike one another, and the contrast had only driven the connection between them. They had balanced each other out, each becoming the strength that the other one lacked.

Eric was gone. There was nothing left of him but the things that he had left behind. Alan had no thought, no idea of where he could possibly go from there without his partner by his side. Even so, the answer was obvious. He might return to work, if he were allowed to do so, and lose himself once more in the paperwork and tedium that had occupied his time before he and Eric had become involved. He would work and wait for the Thorns of Death to take the last few shreds of life from his body. There was nothing else to do.

Burying his face in the discarded shirt, Alan cried himself to sleep.

Night passed entirely without notice. By the time that Alan opened his eyes, early afternoon light shone brightly through the curtains of the bedroom window. It was cold. Hours had passed but everything had stayed the same. His face was buried in the fabric of the shirt. The material was limp from the warmth of his body. Some part of him had hoped that the entire past week had been a nightmare. He was familiar with nightmares, as they often came in the pain-filled nights when he did not really sleep. He had hoped that Eric would be there. Then, he would have wrapped his arms around him, kissed him and counted all of his blessings, as he knew how wonderful his life truly was. It was not. Eric was dead.

Feeling numb, Alan slowly sat up. The air in the apartment was freezing. He had not thought to light a fire the night before or even to pull a blanket over himself. Eric's shirt slid to the side, away from him. Alan stopped moving. Turning to look down at the shirt, he reached out and picked it up. He had not looked closely at the garment when he had picked it up the night before. Eric made no more use of pockets than he typically had the buttons on the shirt. Alan was quite certain that nothing had been in the pocket the night before. He would have noticed the crinkling sound, would have felt the difference in the texture. Yet, there was a piece of paper folded and tucked into the breast pocket. He picked the piece of paper up and unfolded it. The lightest of breaths slipped past his lips as Alan read the words that looked back at him, scrawled in the same messy penmanship that he had always loved.

_"I love you. Live for me."_

**The End**


End file.
